It was different - expansion
by PerfumedRose
Summary: This is an expansion of chapter 11 of 365 Another year of Mystrade it deals with Greg getting very bad news from the doctor.
1. Chapter 1

As per request my expansion on chapter 11 of 365 Another year of Mystrade.

If you didn't read it then that's okay, as it is in this one.

Be warned it is sad, and painful and will have two endings, one happy, one sad (cause I roll that way… ;) just like I did with "not good enough"

 **It was different - expansion**

 **Chapter 1**

Change.  
People say change is good. That we should embrace it.  
Greg first opinion about that is "fuck it." The only thing change has ever brought him was pain and suffering. There was some good but the bad outweighed that a lot more. Something like ten to one. He should ask Mycroft, he would make the sums. No wait... he can't. That's the problem. His relationship with Mycroft is over. He can always ask Sherlock.  
"Aah hell no." He declared out loud before drinking the last bit of beer in the can.  
Sherlock will extrapolate it like some specimen under a microscope and ruin his mood even further.  
Three weeks ago everything was still good and wonderful, now it was different. Everything is different now.

The problem was that Mycroft didn't understand. Greg was the one to break up, not because of Mycroft's work, looks, and his financial status not the fact that he was way smarter and more sophisticated than Greg. It was because Greg loved him.  
Yes.  
Love him.  
More than anything in the world.  
So why did he break up with him?  
Because of a little paper in his bedside table drawer. The results of a test. A medical test.

Those results mean that if he stays with Mycroft, their relationship will be ten times stronger, more emotional and it would break Mycroft when he wasn't there anymore. So in order to save the man he loves, he needed to walk away. He will live with the guilt; it's not much more of a life to live anyhow.  
Six months maximum, if the paper was right, but then again the paper might be wrong and it could be more or less.  
He could already feel the change in him, his body already alerting him to the change taking place inside.  
Bloody hell, his hands is so shaking he can't pick up another can; probably just as well, it might rush to prognosis to sooner. He should get his crying to stop as well. Don't want to go with puffy eyes. Don't want to go period.

Mycroft was furious, he was angry, not at Greg but at himself, how dare he, after years and years and years open up and let a man in. He went back on his 'Caring is not an advantage' and what does he have to show for it? A broken heart. A heart aching and splitting open with every breath he takes. It was his own fault! He decided to fell for the brown eyes, to get swept away by the emotions and feelings of his heart and now he has nothing to show for it….well pain and heartache yes…

He hasn't even attempted to contact anyone in the past three weeks, it was not what he expected, and the worse was he didn't understand why Greg broke it off. He knew it wasn't about his job, because he tried to get them to go out for nearly three years now, and he was adamant that his schedule wouldn't be an issue, and Mycroft could see he wasn't. It wasn't his lifestyle, because Greg adapted quickly to that and he was confident not to let it get in the way. That only leaves that there was something wrong with Mycroft himself. Well as they would way, no use crying over spilled milk so he was just going to build his wall a little thicker, and a little stronger and make that ice extra cold and he would be fine. This was the last time, he promised himself that.

For a few weeks everything went well, or reasonably well, he knew he should tell people about his condition but he didn't. He knew that it won't change much, Sally would be sad and cry a few tears but he knew she would get through it, she'll become a detective, get lost in work and cases and every now and then would think of him, maybe in something he taught her, or a trick he showed once...but she would move on.

Mycroft would be angry, he was when Greg broke it off, angry and cold... he might realise that Greg broke it off on purpose but he would probably think that Greg didn't want to add to Mycroft's load. He had enough problems of his own.

John would wonder why Greg didn't come to him but he would know... he couldn't, not with a flatmate like Sherlock.

Sherlock well...he is not so sure about him, would he wonder why he didn't see it? Would he care at all? The man who gave him cases would be gone; the man who broke his brother's heart would be dead. Regardless of what he says or feels Sherlock cared about his brother and knew that what Greg did was unforgivable. It was mean. Trying to get Mycroft to go out with him for nearly three years, only to start a relationship and break it off, a few months later.

All these thoughts run through his mind as he sat at his desk. He was tired, he should go home, it's been three weeks since the diagnosis and he had a feeling the doctor was optimistic with six months, he is already struggling to make it a day through work, without the desire to sit down and take a nap.

He lifted the pen but it fell out of his hands, his blood circulation was seriously affected, his fingers were numb and cold. Bringing his hands together in an intertwined fist he placed it on his lap, trying to rub some heat back in on his thighs.

He would need to get his affairs in order; he hasn't even started to do it. It would be the responsible thing to do, he should've started the moment he found out, but no…he waited.

The thing is, he knew exactly what he was waiting for, some kind of hope that won't come. Not to him. In movies yeah…real life…with an old grey copper and over fifty…well…he should just face it and move on.

Making his mind up he switched off his computer and packed up, he will go today, start making the arrangements, set up his last Will and hell pick out his coffin while he is at it.

As Greg left the Yard he bumped into Sherlock and John. They didn't look to happy to see him. Greg knew by now that they found out he had broken up with Mycroft. He tried to mentally prepare himself for the inevitable insults and he wasn't disappointed.

"I always thought that my brother would be the one to end this little dalliance...after all you struggled for months to get together and hardly an eye blink and you had enough. Tell me we're you just born that stupid or is it a new year's resolution?" Greg stared at Sherlock, he wanted to yell at him, scream at him, and ask him if he will even miss him when he is gone but he didn't. For some reason when he realised he didn't had much time left his anger disappeared, all for the tumour, he was quite angry about that.

He sighed.

"I'm sorry Sherlock."

"Sorry?...you do realise you're the first person in nearly fifteen years he allowed close to him and then you end it without any explanation or reason and the only thing you can say is sorry?"

John watched the interaction without saying anything. Greg didn't expect him to, John never liked Mycroft and he and Greg has never been close buddies.

"Yes. I know you think..." Greg stopped speaking as he all of a sudden feels weird. It was as is if his brain couldn't find the words he was looking for, what was he saying? He blinked and looks at Sherlock.

"...the case is weak..." He frowned, that wasn't what he wanted to say...he looked away, what was he going to say? He couldn't focus on that as Sherlock snorted.

"Are you drunk? Stupid and drunk...typical." Sherlock commented and pushed past Greg to continue walking. Greg fell back against the wall, the frown still on his face. What did he want to say? Why is he standing out here in the street? He closed his eyes. He was tired and cold and had a pounding headache; he really hopes he isn't coming down with a cold…

He kept standing there for several minutes, why was he outside again? He head was pounding…he should go home get some rest. Yeah…that is what he will do.

He got home and promised himself he would take a nap just for one moment. Before he lay down he took some painkillers for his headache. The moment he laid down on the sofa he fell asleep immediately.


	2. Chapter 2

**It was different - expansion**

 **Chapter 2**

When he finally woke up it was already dark, he was disorientated and decided on a shower, once the water hit him, the whole afternoon came back…he had an episode…he remembered talking to Sherlock, he wanted to say something when he became confused. Sherlock thought he was drunk and Greg gave a choke that was unidentifiable as a sob or laugh, he supposed he should be glad about it, rather that, than realising the truth. He really should start making arrangements, the doctor said that he would start to have more episodes like this, and it will get longer and he might not remember it afterward. He knew he couldn't go on like this, he should start making arrangements. Tomorrow…

"That's what you said today…" He mumbled and then closed his eyes as not to cry…he can't trust himself to remember things anymore. He got out of the shower and putting on his pyjamas he made his way to his cabinet and took out his sticky notepads, his hands were shaking and there was nothing he could do about it. He will need to start writing notes to himself and put it against his walls.

His hands shook as he took the black marker and started to write. He might as well do it properly. He started; 'Breakfast'. ' _Shower_ '. ' _Will arrangements'_. ' _Funeral arrangements'_. ' _Goodbye letters'_. He was crying by the time he finished, the notes he stick around his wall, the food and the reminder to switch off the kettle he placed in the kitchen. The arrangements notes next to his laptop. The notes to remind him to shower, laundry and brushing teeth he placed in the bedroom and bathroom. In a moment of sentimentality he made a note and placed it on his lampshade, so he wouldn't be able to miss it.

That was the first night he didn't cry himself to sleep.

The next morning he made his mind up, he got ready for work and instead to his office he went straight to his boss, it was time to face facts, it was time to let go and get his things in order.

It was another two weeks later when Sherlock tried to contact Greg for a case. He didn't get a reply.

Greg looked at his phone; his eyes were red and his skin pale. These two weeks was enough to make the change in his health a lot more noticeable. He made the arrangements, his Will was in order, and even his funeral was planned right down to the coffin. He was wearing long sleeved clothes, the blood circulation at such a stat he was permanently cold. His hands have started to tremble slightly, the fingers lost the thickness, instead it is long and pale bones surrounding by skin. He lost nearly ten pounds still losing more.

" **I need a case. SH"**

Greg read it again, SH….Sherlock…case….briefcase?...oh police case…

" _I need a miracle."_

He typed and realised his mistake after he hit send. He wonders how Sherlock would take it, probably harass him and bother him until he deduced what is going on. More than two weeks since that afternoon and Greg had no contact with him, John or Mycroft. He missed them, but there is no way he is going to tell them what is happening to him, he can't do that to them, any of them, although he really wishes he could see Mycroft one more time. He made two notes for his bedside, the paper hanging of his lamp. He hasn't been to work either, the official story is that he went on early pension; after all it is not like he could say, "Hey all, I'll be dead in less than four months, cheers!" News spread and something like that will reach the grapevine and the streets of London in less than a day. Not to mention that some of his last cases could be brought in to question with his 'condition'. That last bit was thanks to his boss, who decided on the pension story…

" **Are you still drunk? SH"**

Greg read it and his whole body shook with sobs, the phone fell out his hands with a soft thud onto the carpet. He probably should be thankful for the misunderstanding, after all, he didn't want them to find out, and looks like his luck is still holding. He cried till he no longer had tears left and stood up from the sofa.

His eyes caught the rest of the apartment and he wanted to scream. Most of his things were in boxes, stacked up in a corner, but what hurt the most were the notes all over the place. It increased from the original few he had a few weeks ago, it looked like he was decorating his room with notes. He wished it was over now. He made his way to the kitchen to make some tea, but seeing the notes on how to handle the kettle he changed his mind and put on his coat, deciding to take a walk.

He made it all the way to the river, it was late afternoon and the last business people and workers were going home and the tourists were making their way to the various spots of interest. It was all so normal, so every day. It made him want to scream. He sat down on the bench his eyes looking over the river. The sun was casting long shadows of the lamppost and trees while the orange sky was melting into the water. He loved this city, he loved every part of it and pretty soon he will become one with it. His body decomposing in the ground, the city he spend his life protecting, the city that gave him love, pain, heartache and adventure, the city who flowed in his veins just like the river through the city.

When he started to feel the chill more than usual he stood up, he must be the only person in London right now to be wearing winter clothes and his coat. He started walking back when he became disorientated, dizzy and feeling off. He looked around, he needed to get someone's attention, his head was pounding. He saw a patrol officer walking down the street and called out to him. The officer immediately knows something was wrong; he walked over to Greg looking worried.

"Sir, are you okay?" Greg shook his head, but it caused him more pain.

"Help…me…" he grumbled out and grabbed his head as the pain intensified. He groaned out loud, his hands grabbing his head, his knees buckled and he fell down, the patrol officer grabbing him and the last thing Greg heard was that the cop was calling for an ambulance. His time was nearly up. He closed his eyes as the pain was just too much to handle.

John was waiting patiently for his shift to be over when the call came in about an emergency. A man collapsed in the street, calling for help from the patrol officer walking past, he didn't have his wallet or phone with him so he is a John Doe at the moment. John walked over to the entrance waiting for the ambulance. He turned to the nurse

"Do they suspect foul play?"

"No, no drugs, no alcohol, the officer said he looked disorientated, and was clutching his head, could be a stroke."

"Yeah…"

Right then the doors opened and they wheeled him in. John had the strangest feeling when he saw the coat…he knows that coat…he made his way to the man's face. The man had grey hair but he couldn't see the face as there was an oxygen mask on…besides the man was too thin to be Greg. John moved closer and removed the mask to assess the patient when he froze, his mouth falling open in shock.

"Doctor?" The nurse called him but he didn't hear.

"Doctor!" She tried again and John looked at her.

"What?" He tried, his voice failing him.

"Do you know this man?"

He nodded. It seemed unreal.

"What is his name; it would help us if we can get his records."

"Lestrade. Greg Lestrade."

John didn't have a change to think more on the subject as he did his duty and helped the patient. After Greg was stabilised John sat down at the computer and called up Greg's medical history. In less than ten minutes he was sitting with his head in his hands…words like 'terminal', 'inoperable' and 'tumour' was swirling in front of him. Greg was diagnosed three months ago, right before he broke off his relations with Mycroft. John looked up…it all makes sense now. Oh God, what is he supposed to do now?

Greg stirred to the sound of a beep and a bright light in his eyes. He lifted his hand but struggled, there was something in his hand. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked down, there was a needle and tube stuck in his hand, and he followed it towards the bag of whatever hanging next to his bed. The lined and blanket was all in white. He was in hospital. Great. He gave a long sigh.

"How are you feeling?" Greg head shot to the side, John was sitting on a plastic chair next to his bed.

"How….? He tried not trusting himself to finish that sentence the way he should. His brain is failing him and after this episode it would be worse.

"I was on call." Greg just nodded and looked away. So his luck was finally running out. Awesome.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Greg turned around to look at John.

"Why should I?"

"Because we're your friends." Greg started laughing at that.

"Bull, you hardly contact me, Sherlock con….message….speak…." he closed his eyes, he hated this... can't even say a proper sentence.

"Call." John softly provided.

"Call me for a case…last time he called me an idiot and a drunk…you were under a vow of silence or something, and you expect me to share this with you? Please get out."

"Greg…"

"I am dying, apparently besides losing the function to talk, to think, to be me…I will experience mood swings, so let's call this an angry mood swing where I chase you out."

"Let us…"

"OUT!" Greg yelled and regretted it as his head pounded, he grabbed his head and twisted to his side John leaned over but he couldn't increase the pain meds, it was too soon, so he just watched Greg for a moment before his shoulders sagged and he walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

**It was different - expansion**

 **Chapter 3**

John went home his mind on Greg the whole time. How did things get so bad so quickly? One minute everything was fine, the next Greg was dying and has less than two months to live and no one, no one knew. He stopped and closed his eyes as he remembered that day at the Yard when Sherlock called him drunk for not speaking properly, he wasn't drunk, his brain was failing and Greg said nothing. Sherlock deduced nothing and John…the bloody doctor didn't put one and one together.

He reached Baker Street and sighed, the familiar black car was outside. How the hell is he supposed to tell Mycroft? Should he? Yes, he may not like the man, but he deserves to know that Greg didn't broke it off because he didn't feel anything for him anymore, he wanted to save him from seeing Greg slowly losing his mind, literally, his memories would go, his motor function, his cognitive function, everything that makes him Greg, as he said, everything that makes me, me. If it haven't already. Probably has as Greg didn't have his phone, id, wallet nothing on him. His house keys were on a lanyard around his neck, he couldn't forget that.

With heavy steps he opened the door and wished he could turn the clock back and never got out of bed.

"John!" Sherlock yelled from the first floor. John took a breath and braced himself as he made his way upstairs. He didn't answer and stepped into the living room. Mycroft was sitting on the sofa, he looked tired and Sherlock was standing with a file in his hand.

"Good evening." He greeted softly and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

"Rough day?" Sherlock asked.

"Rough patient, obviously, hit home as they would say." Mycroft provided in dry tone and stood up.

"That s about right." John mumbled.

"What's that?" Sherlock asked as he frowned and looked back at the kitchen. John sighed and stepped back into the living room. Now or never, he preferred never but that was that.

"Have either of you heard from Greg?"

Mycroft froze and clutched his umbrella. Sherlock frowned.

"I haven't spoken to him in a few weeks." Mycroft replied in a clipped tone.

"Well I haven't spoken to him since he decided to drink his troubles away or send ridiculous texts."

John frowned.

"What did he send?" Both brothers turned to him.

"What?"

"What did he send?" He repeated a more strongly.

"I need a miracle." Sherlock answered John mouth fell open and he looked like he got punched in the stomach.

"What is going on Doctor Watson?" Mycroft ordered and stepped closer to John. Sherlock by now realised something was wrong stepped closer to John.

He looked up at them, first Mycroft then Sherlock.

"He does need a miracle."

"Get to the point John."

"He's dying." He watched as both their faces mirrored the same emotions, disbelief, surprised but Mycroft got fear and pain as well.

"What?" Mycroft's voice was small and cracked.

"No, he's not." Sherlock stated as if it were obvious.

John took a breath and looked at Mycroft.

"He was diagnosed with a brain tumour, a few days before he broke it off with you." Mycroft gasped and took a step back, his legs shaking. John turned to Sherlock.

"He wasn't drunk; it was his brain failing to…he…" He trialled of and Sherlock stared at John, trying to process what he was saying.

"How long?" Mycroft asked trying to hold himself upright against the wall, he was no longer this strong man, he looked tired, and he looked grief stricken in less than a minute.

"Six months." John replied looking at no one. Sherlock grabbed his shoulders.

"That was four months ago." John nodded and started talking.

"He collapsed in the street today, I was on duty when he was brought in, and he didn't look good. I hardly recognised him. It was luck that I was there, he didn't have a wallet, phone or any id on him, and they thought he was a John Doe.

"I want to see him" Mycroft stated.

"Why didn't he tell us?" Sherlock asked confused.

"Because he didn't think we'd care and he didn't want us to see him deteriorating." Sherlock realised immediately what John meant, instead of seeing the facts, of investigating why Greg would break it off, they assumed the worst.

"I want to see him." Mycroft repeated.

"I would suggest the morning; they have him under heavy medication and observation tonight." Mycroft cringed but nodded.

When Greg woke up, he was disorientated, he knew he was in hospital, but he didn't really know why…for a moment he thought he was shot on duty, or in a car accident but he had no wounds, and it took him a few minutes to realise he wasn't working anymore. The incident came back, he collapsed in the street. He laid his head back against the pillow; he was feeling beyond humiliated and embarrassed. He wanted to go home, but he wasn't sure they would release him, but he got to try. He reached for the button to call the nurse when he stopped.

John.

John was on call last night, he knows everything now. What on earth is he going to do? By now Sherlock knows, and he wouldn't waste a moment to tell Mycroft. Mycroft….just the idea on explaining this to him is giving him another headache and since he is having headaches non-stop this isn't helping.

He laid back thinking about what to do when the catering staff came in with his breakfast. He didn't even acknowledge her as she placed his tray on his bedside rolling table. He was hungry yes, but one look at the food put him off his appetite. Besides these days he is having trouble with cutlery, shaking hands and failing motor functions, isn't really a good match. He rolled over to his side and tried to get some sleep.

Mycroft followed John and Sherlock as they walked down the hallway, the mood quiet and sombre. They came to a stop at the door on their right. John stopped, balled his fists and walked in, Sherlock glanced at Mycroft before he followed John. Mycroft stood at the doorway before going in.

Once inside he wished he never did, Greg was laying with his back to the door, his food untouched. It was obvious, even from this angle that Greg lost weight. John stepped closer to the bed but Greg didn't move.

"Greg?" Greg moved slightly but that was it.

Mycroft looked at Sherlock and saw his young brother eyes red rimmed and tired, he felt guilty, he missed this, Greg reached out with the text, but he didn't pick up on it, not even that time at the Yard, he felt guilty for missing it, for not realising that Greg, the only detective he wanted to work with was sick. He didn't know how to comfort his brother, he didn't think he could.

Greg stirred awake; there was someone in the room with him. Shifting he caught the reflection in the window, he sighed out loudly. If it was a hallucination then he is going to be very angry with himself, if it is not….he is going to be very angry just because he can.

"Greg?" Greg closed his eyes as a wave of anger overcame him. John and he brought reinforcements. He ignored him.

"You should eat something." John tried as he looked at the tray with breakfast; it was some Weetabix with a little pot of milk and few sachets of sugar. The teapot was already half cold.

Greg still ignored him, Mycroft sighed and slowly made his way over to them, he eyed the cereal and stepped around the bedside table to get a better look at Greg. It was only of his years of experience that he was able to keep his face neutral. Greg had lost so much weight that his cheekbones were standing out. He was also pale and made now attempt to acknowledge them. He kept staring ahead. Mycroft stopped when he reached the bed, if he reach out with his hand, he would be able to touch Greg. He wanted to cry Greg knew he was standing there but didn't look at him; instead he blinked as tears fell down his eyes and rolled down to the pillow.

"Gregory?" He asked his voice soft and unsteady. Greg wanted to scream and yell and tell him to piss off, to all of them, how dare they just walk in and comfort him now…how dare they, he didn't want them to know…insteadGreg sobbed and tried to hide his face deeper into the pillow, pulling the blanket over his head. John and Sherlock watched from the other side of the bed, both faces filled with grief and pain. Sherlock stared at the silhouette of Greg, the man who saved him many times over, was now close to death. If the original prognosis was correct, he had less than two months to live, eight weeks. Sixty days give or take. It was nothing, one blink and it would be gone.

"Please look at me." Mycroft's plea sounded like a whip through the air, Sherlock had never in his life heard that ache in his brother's voice, he loved Greg, even though he never told Greg that, or admitted it to anyone, but he knew, for Mycroft to break down enough walls to enter a relationship with Greg was a big declaration already. Now, he knows why Greg broke it off, he knew Mycroft didn't know why, he couldn't understand, but now he did. Now they all know why and Sherlock wished there was a way he could help his brother.

"Gregory…please…"

"I don't want you to see me like this…I can't…" Greg's voice was hoarse from misuse and crying. Mycroft closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I'm not going anywhere, let me stay."

Greg slowly removed the blanket till he was looking at Mycroft through teary eyes.

"I'm sorry I hurt you." He whispered softly and Mycroft was close to crying, instead he leaned closer so that his forehead was touching Greg's. He didn't say anything, he didn't know what to say or what to do about this so he just stayed like this. His hands found Greg's and their fingers interlaced of their own accord. John grabbed Sherlock's arm and dragged him out, giving the two men much needed privacy.


	4. Chapter 4

**It was different - expansion**

 **Chapter 4**

John and Sherlock walked to the cafeteria and brought some fresh coffee for them all; they were slowly walking back to the room. Sherlock was quiet. He had so many questions but didn't know where to start asking. He glanced at John.

"Why don't the doctors want to operate?"

"There are several reasons, from the file and scan it looked as though it is too much of a risk. The tumour is deep in his brain, next to his frontal lobe and temporal lobe, so you know what that part is responsible for, although small it is growing rapidly and if they operate and just get one small thing wrong, he will have permanent brain damage. Unfortunately finding a surgeon who would be crazy enough to attempt an operations like that, is next to none."

"What about other treatment?"

"Well, they can try radiation but that is only when it is cancerous or worth a try…the doctor gave him six months, usually that means that there is nothing they can do, besides operate, but like I said, the risk is just too high."

"But shouldn't risk be part of the job"

"Yes, but not in this case. If the surgeon messes up, he can lose his reputation and license."

"So we wait till he just what? Doesn't wake up?" John sighed, he knew Sherlock was feeling hopeless, so was he.

"It's not that simple, you saw how much weight he lost right, his blood circulation is affected so he is permanently cold, his fingers is twitching which means he is losing motor functions, I bet the weight loss is because he struggles too much to eat, unable to hold the utensils. His memory is deteriorating so he can be under the impression he already ate. His ability to think so his reasoning skills are failing, he is losing all his cognitive and emotional functioning, his brain is shutting down."

"But if we can find a surgeon that is willing to take the risk?" Sherlock was adamant on finding a solution, to solve the puzzle, to get some understanding of this. John agreed, he wished he could do something too.

"At this point, it would be one hell of risk taker, but I think the problem would be to get Greg to agree."

"Why wouldn't he?" Sherlock truly seemed flabbergasted with the idea that he wouldn't go ahead with the operation.

"Because he wouldn't be able to live with himself if it fails, he would have permanent brain damage, the best would be that he is placed in a nursing or care home with 24/7 care. He would be like a new-born baby Sherlock, depending on the damage, he may never be the man he was before, and let's face it, if that was you or me, we would do the same. We wouldn't want to burden our loved ones with the idea that we need constant care, wearing diapers, unable to talk, that takes a lot of courage and sacrifice and determination to look after someone like that. He has no one…he has us, but where we're we these past few months would you be willing to care for him for the rest of his life, or yours?" Sherlock looked down, John said things that made sense but still, he was feeling so guilty and helpless. There must be a way to help him, to get out of this. He can solve murders without leaving the room, John was a soldier and doctor, Mycroft is the British Government, surely something can be done?

Mycroft finally moved back and pulled the chair closer, his hand in Greg's. Greg had stopped crying but he didn't look better, not really.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Mycroft…" Greg tried; he didn't want to talk about it

"I deserve to know..." Mycroft was adamant.

"Because I love you."

"I don't understand…"

"I'm slowly and steadily losing my…b…bre..brain." He lifted his finger towards his head.

"Can't let you see…can't…love you too much…." Greg was speaking softly and slowly, he needed to think about each word to make sure the sentence is right. Mycroft wanted to rip something to pieces, it all makes sense, he understood the reasoning and now that he is coming face to face with the effects of the tumour, now that he can see how Greg is deteriorating he knew if it was him, he would've done the same. Greg is losing everything that makes him, the smile, the snarky humour, the bravery, the loyalty everything that defines him and there's nothing anyone can do. He didn't want to break apart in every way in front of Mycroft, making him watch helplessly how Greg is dying. Even to the very end he tried to save Mycroft the pain, taking it all on himself, carrying the burden alone

"What about surgery?" He tried everything in him is telling him to find a way; he is Mycroft Holmes, he makes things happen.

"Too…risky…deep in my brain…small chance of survival…"

Mycroft knew this too, last night he hacked into Greg's files and read everything, he did his research, Greg was lucky they found it when they did, but he couldn't give up. Two months, they may have two months but he won't let it go to waste. Greg loves him, he has said to Mycroft more than once and he hasn't said it back, too scared too afraid of opening up, and he knew he couldn't say it right now, if he says it, they both knew it would be the same as saying goodbye.

"Gregory…"

"Shhhh. Stop thinking so much…"

"I can't…"

"I want to go home…can you take me home?" Greg tried to change the subject or he forgot what they were talking about.

"I don't know; I'll ask John if he can release you." He looked at the cereal.

"You must try to eat something." Greg shook his head

"No…I mess it up…too messy…can't hold a spoon…" Greg replied and looked away, embarrassed and Mycroft felt his heart cracking, it was so close to breaking how do you comfort a man who can't hold cutlery anymore? Who is too embarrassed about eating in public, or eating in general as he knows it would be a messy experience, a struggle to put the food in his mouth. He was so glad that Greg looked away as he closed his eyes to keep the tears from falling. He needs to be strong.

They heard movement from the door and Mycroft opened his eyes to see Sherlock and John stepping in, they were holding one of those paper holders with four paper cups of tea and coffee.

They were aware that something happened, but they didn't dare to ask questions. John stepped closer and put the tray on the bedside table, next to the cereal.

"I got you some coffee, if you're up for it." Greg opened his eyes and looked at the cup, it looked sturdy with paper and the lid, and it would help him. He nodded and sits a bit straighter. John took the bed remote.

"Want me to lift you more?" Greg nodded and John lifted the bed till he was sitting upright. John removed the cups and handed it each of them, Greg held his in both hands and looked down. He slowly brought the cup up to his lips, the wrinkles deep on his forehead as he concentrated. He took a sip and nearly drank the entire cup, he was thirsty and hungry. Mycroft struggled with taking one sip, his throat kept constricting. Putting the cup down he turned to John.

"Doctor Watson, Greg expressed his desire to go home, is there any chance you can release him?" Greg looked up at John to agree, he really wanted to go home, when he twisted his hand and the cup fall out, the lid coming loose and the last of the coffee spilling over his blanket. They watch in stunned silence as Greg had an episode of anger as he yelled how he should just die and get it over with.

"It's not him." John said but Sherlock and Mycroft didn't acknowledged him, they watch helplessly as Greg thrashed and screamed that he wants to get out of the place, his mind was at such a fragile state that he nearly lost all control over his emotions. Mycroft walked over to John.

"Get his release papers…now…"

"Mycroft…" John tried but Mycroft didn't give him the chance to speak.

"There's nothing you can do here, get him home, and he will calm down. Let us take him home." Sherlock grabbed John and dragged him out as Mycroft turned back to Greg.

"Gregory…calm down…"

"Don't down calm tell me! I'm dying!" Greg yelled back and just as his episode started he sagged back against the bed, crying and curling into a foetal position. Mycroft didn't even try to stop the tear falling down his eyes; he was right he walked closer to the bed and sat down on the bed, trying to wrap his arm around Greg.

"Gregory…please…." Greg reached out to Mycroft and held onto him. Mycroft hugged him as tightly as he could.

"Sorry….didn't mean to yell…"

"It's okay…it's okay…"

It took Mycroft a few minutes to calm him down when he saw John and Sherlock at the door, holding his release papers.

"Come on. John got the letters, let's get you home." Greg nodded and allowed John to remove the IV line from his hand; both he and Mycroft noticed for the first time exactly how thin his hands had become. He struggled a bit to get dressed but managed without incident. The other stayed close to him as they made their way out, the black car already waiting for them. Sherlock and John decided on taking a cab and meeting them at Greg's house. Mycroft was glad for the chance to be alone with Greg once more as they drove.

It was only when they arrived at his house that Greg stopped at the front door his hand shaking as he held the key. He just remembered, half his possessions were gone or packed up, not to mention the post-it notes all over his walls. He turned to them.

"You don't have to come in you know…"

"Don't be ridiculous, we didn't come all this way to dump you at your front door, besides I want tea." Sherlock stated and took the key from Greg.

"Sherlock…please…don't say anything…" Greg asked softly and stood back as Sherlock opened the door, he folded his arms tightly as if to hug himself. Sherlock frowned at him and went inside. He stopped in the doorway, his eyes taking everything in. Mycroft noticed the shock in his brother's posture immediately and was worried, what on earth could upset his brother like this. He ushered them in, Greg the last as he stood in the corner behind the front door and watched helplessly as the three men stared at the place. John knuckles were white as he clenched his fists. Sherlock stared, swallowing every now and then and Mycroft. He gasped out loudly his umbrella fell out of his hands as tears run down his face.


	5. Chapter 5

**It was different - expansion**

 **Chapter 5**

Greg watched them with hooded eyes, trying his best to crawl deeper into his skin or the wall as he stood in the corner. He can't believe that he forgot about the state of him home otherwise he never would've agreed that they bring him home. Noticing they were still staring he slipped away into his bedroom, he needed to be alone. How on earth is he going to tell them he got rid of most of his possessions, and packed up the rest. He didn't know what to do with it once he is dead and saved it for later. The rest was covered in notes. The telly had several. ' _Press here to turn on'_ , ' _volume control_ , ' _channel switch'_ marked the remote and the sides of the screen. The radio had notes. He kicked off his shoes and looked around his bedroom. More notes…just like the bathroom…just like the kitchen and every other place in here. Feeling the overwhelming of emotions he sat on the edge of the bed and picked up a pillow to stifle his cries. His body shaking with sobs.

John looked around and was the first to speak.

"I'll go make tea." He stated and walked towards the kitchen. Once there he looked around.

"Oh Jeesus." He whispered but Sherlock heard him and with one look at his brother went to the kitchen. Sherlock entered the room and just as John was shocked to find more notes. He opened the fridge and they shared a look, besides for bread, milk, butter and some fruit it was empty.

"Why isn't he eating?" Sherlock asked in a flat tone. Mycroft followed Sherlock when he heard the question and just stood in the doorway, even he could see the fridge was quite empty. He knew why, the notes gave it away.

"Because he can't." John whispered, Sherlock turned to him with a question in his eyes. John waved around the kitchen.

"He forgets, he doesn't know how things work anymore, look at the kettle, it has notes on how to plug it in, fill with water before switch in on, his brain is failing so is his motor function, did you see how he concentrated on the cup of coffee, the only reason he drank it, was because of the lid, if it didn't had the lid he wouldn't have drank it. He struggles to bring food and water to his mouth, with his shaking hands and motor functions failing; he probably misses and causes a big mess. The bread and fruit are easy to clean."

Mycroft heard enough and turned back to the living room, Greg wasn't there. He frowned and then noticed the hallway to the bedroom. Greg is ashamed, scared and tired and will seek out the best comfort, which is his bed. He made his way over to the bedroom and as he turned into the room stopped. Greg was lying on the bed, clutching a pillow as he cried. Mycroft looked down, his heart shattering for the man. It was so unfair. Greg knew they would be good together and for a brief time they were, until this. So many wasted years, so many memories they could've had but was all gone now. He understood why Greg broke it off, he didn't like it, but he understood and wished he didn't. Not under these circumstances, right now he would've chosen his cold demeanour, his status, his work everything else but this.

He took a hesitant step into the room, what is he going to do? How is he going to comfort Greg? Well, he needed to do something. Kicking off his shoes, he removed his jacket and then he walked towards the bed and climbed on top his chest behind Greg's back and pulled him closer. Greg jerked but Mycroft pulled him tighter.

"Just let me be here for you." He whispered and Greg pushed the pillow away and turned so he could watch Mycroft who was still holding him. Greg stared through his tears into Mycroft's eyes that were just as red rimmed with tears that fell down and as a new wave of tears hit him, he buried his face in Mycroft's neck, which held him as tightly as he could, his own body shaking with tears. He looked up and stared…there were two notes against his lampshade right in front of the reader.

" _Don't forget Mycroft_." Was written and underlined several times on one, the other " _You love Mycroft_ " was written on the other. He closed his eyes as tears spilled over his cheeks. The notes were places that it would be the last thing Greg would see as he falls asleep and the first thing when he wakes up.

John made the tea while Sherlock walked around the flat, his brain took in everything and when he got to the laptop he read the notes that Greg left, to remind himself to make arrangements for this death, his Will, his funeral and even his policies and everything he could. Half the furniture where gone and the rest of his stuff was in storage, even terminally ill and in death Greg still took care of everything, and everyone…just like he always did. Greg was a carer and nurturer.

Sherlock may pretend to be cold and mean sometimes but he knows if it wasn't for Greg, he would've been long dead. Greg was always there when he needed someone and never expected anything back. It is not right that he should go through this alone, someone needs to be there for him, and Sherlock realised that it would be them. Greg may have pushed them away, but the point is, they allowed it, with their selfishness and ego, they were responsible for Greg not because they are all he has left but because they owe it to him. Greg won't ever see it like that but Sherlock knew that he return at least one favour that was given to him on multiple times.

He made his way through the small place, both his brother and Greg were gone. He could hear soft sobs as he made his way to the master bedroom and stepped inside. He was met with a sight he never expected to see, his brother without shoes and jacket was curled up on a bed, holding Greg as tightly as he could as he cried. He looked down to the carpet as he tried to keep himself from crying. Since last night his entire Mind Palace has received a shock and the more he knows and realise the more he felt a bit off-kilter. Just as quiet as he entered he walked back out again leaving the two men alone.

Mycroft didn't know how long he held on to Greg as he cried but Greg must have been exhausted and as he slowly calmed down he fell asleep as well. Mycroft's back was aching so he slowly moved away. Greg was indeed asleep, but it wasn't relaxed, his face was contorted as if in pain and his lips were slightly blue, pulling up his coat sleeve he saw the goose bumps and felt the iciness in Greg's hands. He has been complaining about being cold the whole time. Mycroft slowly got out of the bed to open the blankets or use the half to cover him half in a cocoon when he saw that Greg has been sleeping under three blankets.

"Oh…" He slowly let out and used all three blankets to cover Greg who buried himself deeper into the warmth. Mycroft leaned over and kissed his cheek briefly before going into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and sagged to his knees. Biting down on his arm he tried to stifle the scream that he has been harbouring since the morning. There were more notes in the bathroom as well and Mycroft cried his sobs racking through his chest like small explosions. It was not fair, it wasn't supposed to happen like this. He also knew from the way the nurses looked at him as he left that the prognosis of two months was being optimistic. He has never in his lift felt so helpless; one part of him wants to call every agency, every contact he has ever worked with to find a way to resolve this. He wanted to have every hospital and doctor on his pay list so he could order them to help Greg. To do the operation and find a way to save that man. Wiping his tears he slowly stood up and washed his face. He allowed himself a moment to let his scream out and his frustrations and that moment is gone. He walked out the bathroom picking up his shoes and jacket and walked back to the living room.

Sherlock looked up as his brother walked into the room, his eyes still bloodshot red, his shoes in one hand and his jacket in the other. Ignoring both of them he sat in one of the chairs and put his shoes on.

"Made some tea." John said needlessly as there was three mugs on the small tray on the table. Mycroft nodded.

"Is there anything stronger than tea?" He asked as he leaned forward and picked up a mug.

"No…nothing…I did look." He replied.

"How are we going to convince him to do the operation?" Sherlock asked looking at Mycroft.

"We will need to find a surgeon first." He stated as he drank the hot tea, it was wonderful and just what he needed, although what he truly needed was quite irrelevant at this point.

"You can do that, just scare them or pay them." Sherlock replied as if was the most obvious thing in the world to do. Under usual circumstances it would be, this was a whole new set of different for the both of them and are looking for way they could improve this. John was softly listening to them, not say a word, he also was trying to find a way they could help Greg because looking around he could see that Greg need some help. He glanced between them.

"In the meantime what are we going to do about Greg, he can't stay here, I think it is clear to say that he can't be left alone anymore. Sherlock and Mycroft glanced at each other; they never thought about that is he going to stay here? Is one of them going to move in with him? Is he going to move in with them?

Mycroft put the cup down and looked at John.

"You don't honesty think I will leave him here alone do you?"


	6. Chapter 6

This is the last chapter on the sad and tragic version,for those who know me by now, and have read "not good enough" and "come what may" know I have a tendency to use and instance and split the story into two different directions. In "not good enough" it was the CPR moment in "come what may" the discussion Greg and Nick had at the Thames, in this case it would be when Greg overhears the conversation in the kitchen. I decided on posting the sad chapter first and then later today I'll post the happy ending one.

Hope you enjoy it.

 **It was different - expansion**

 **Chapter 6**

When Greg woke up it was late morning, for a moment he was disorientated, the bed was unknown as well as the room. For starters it was a lot more comfortable than what he was used to. He looked up to see a page with a few notes, next to the two that was usually on his bed side table. He quickly read the list

 _At Mycroft country house_

 _You're safe_

 _You're not alone_

 _Sherlock and John is here as well_

 _Don't worry_

 _Mycroft is here_

As her read it, the memories came back, he has been here for about a week now, when he woke up in his old place after the hospital visit, it was to find the three men in his living room making arrangements and waiting for him. It took some persuasion but when Mycroft took hold of his hands and asked him nicely, nearly begged him to come with him, he only nodded. So they waited for him to pack a few stuff, Mycroft oversaw as Greg forgot nearly half the stuff they set out to his country side home. He wanted to ask them if they know about his work, but decided against it, he doesn't want to talk about it, and it wasn't that difficult to find out, or deduce he was no longer working.

The first few days were rough; Mycroft took leave from work for an unspecified amount of time to help him settle in. Without pre-arrangements Sherlock and John decided to move in on the west wing of the house, Sherlock made excuses about an experiment with the bees and John straight out admitted he stayed for Greg. Greg didn't say thank you or acknowledge them as he just turned around and went into his room. The door closing with a soft thud. They didn't saw him until the next day.

The biggest challenge was to get him to eat; he refused to eat in front of them, and would take a slice of bread, surround himself with a blanket and would go outside. Mycroft's garden was big and well kept, with stone paths and a bench overlooking the grounds. He would make himself comfortable on the bench and would sit there for hours. Occasionally one of them would sit with him, not saying anything, just providing him with the comfort and support they should've given him before. Mycroft would sit with him for the longest.

Sighing Greg got out of bed to get dressed and get ready for the day, his actions was slower than the day before and he knew his time was nearly up. Dressing warmly in his tracksuit and jumper, scarf and the blanket he went to the kitchen. He could hear noises coming from the kitchen, they were discussing him. Making his way softly over the floor he listened.

"Convince him!" Sherlock's grunted.

"He doesn't want to Sherlock, if I could I would, I would give anything to make him say yes to the operation and we have tried this week, he is adamant." Greg looked down, his heart breaking at hearing the pain and defeat in Mycroft's voice.

"He's dying!" Sherlock cried out, his voice just as close to breaking, the desperation clear.

"You don't think I know that? You don't think I can see the way he is getting weaker with any passing minute! You called me the British Government once, you tell people I'm one of the most dangerous people they would ever meet, and don't you think that I would give it up, everything just to get him back?" Greg swallowed the lump as a tear ran down his face. He would gladly do it if he knew it would fix him, but it won't. He has a 10% survival and even less with his mind being intact afterwards. He couldn't do it, not to himself and not to Mycroft.

"We can't lose him Mycroft." Sherlock's voice was soft.

Mycroft didn't reply, everyone knew whatever he said, it wouldn't bring any comfort. Wiping his eyes Greg stepped into the kitchen, three faces turned to him, the guilt of talking behind his back evident. He walked over to Sherlock and took his hand; for once Sherlock's hand was bigger and broader than Greg's.

"You…will…never…lose…me…I'm…sure…you…have…me…somewhere…in…that…mind…of…yours…." He slowly said, concentrating on each word, each syllable to make sure he can get the message across. He was struggling these days to talk.

"Why won't you take the risk?" Sherlock asked, not caring that his eyes filled with tears.

"Because…don't…want…to…forget…you…all…of…you."

"But…" Sherlock started but Mycroft stepped between them, taking Greg's hand and indicate he must try to have some breakfast. Greg stopped him and pulled him closer.

"I…know…you…want…me…to…fight…but…not…win…now…I…would…rather…die…knowning…you…loving…you…than…live…not…loving…you." Mycroft pulled Greg close and held him close, he has been showing more emotion in the past week than in his entire life. He doesn't even try to hide the pain anymore, or hide the fact that he was crying. Soon it will be all over and his heart will be nothing more than a block of ice, so crying won't be a problem anymore. They didn't discuss it again.

It was two days later when Greg woke up that morning, the first thing he did was to read his list, two new lines was added in Mycroft's handwriting _'yes, I'm in your bed_ ' and the last one in capital letters. _'I love you'_ Greg smiled and turned around to see Mycroft was watching him. That was what he wanted most of the entire world, to see that, instead the world gave him a tumour.

"Love. You."

"I love you." Mycroft replied and leaned over to give him a brief kiss.

"I'll go get breakfast okay; do you want to sit outside again?" Greg nodded; ever since he came here Greg was sitting outside, as long as he could, breathe in the fresh air, the flowers, the blue sky and Mycroft next to him. He waited till Mycroft left before he got out of the bed. He was so weak these days. He made his way to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Somehow he just knew that today was the day that he was going to die. He dreamt it last night and when he woke up, he knew. There was this calmness in him, a peace that the pain would soon be over. He wished he had longer but unfortunately he didn't, but that was okay in its own weird way, he was ready. He didn't want to suffer anymore. He didn't want to struggle to speak or think or eat, he most certainly didn't want to see the pain in Mycroft's eye anymore, or in Sherlock's or John. He slowly made his way over to his bag, at the bottom he placed the letters he wrote to each of them. He added more since he was here in a very scribbly handwriting. If there is one thing that he is truly thankful for is that since they found out, the four of them became closer than ever. It is a sad fact to realise that the four of them would've been so good together, but that is a chance he'll never get. He dressed in his clothes as warm as possible and made his way to the kitchen.

They had their breakfast and picked a few sandwiches for lunch outside as well before Mycroft took his hand and went outside. The day was beautiful, sunny and bright, birds and bees flying around, the roses in full bloom; it was as if the whole garden was saying goodbye in a beautiful picturesque moment.

It was mid-day when Greg felt the change in his body; he looked at Mycroft who was reading to him. He reached out with his hand to cup Mycroft's cheek.

"Kiss." He said and Mycroft frowned but leaned over and kissed him. When they parted Greg smiled.

"Love…you. So much."

"I love you. Are you ready to go in?" Greg shook his head. He was close and he didn't want Mycroft to be there to see him dying, he couldn't do that to him. They talked about it and Mycroft insisted on being with him till the very end but Greg couldn't do it to him. Never.

"Can…you…tea…"

"Would you like some tea?" Greg nodded and Mycroft got up.

"I'll be right back." He passed the roses and picked a big red one and handed it to Greg. Greg took it with a smile and smelled it.

"Love..you..never…forget…" Greg whispered the rose in front of his face. Mycroft leaned over and kissed him again.

"I won't. I'll be right back okay?"

"Okay."

When he turned his back Greg cried his last single tear that fell on the rose petal, he looked towards the sky, it was so blue. When he looked up, he saw Mycroft standing in front of him, holding out his hand.

"Come on Gregory, it is time to go."

Greg nodded and took his hand and stood up, walking with Mycroft their hands interlaced down the path, Greg's hand brushed over the flowers it was beautiful.

Mycroft knew something was wrong as he walked with the tray to the bench, Greg's hand was slack, hanging by his side and half the blanket has fallen off.

"Gregory?" There was no movement, not a twitch. Mycroft closed his eyes. No. no….no!

The tray fell out of his hands, the cups shattering splashing the dark tea and mild everywhere, the sugar pot broke, the crystals melting together between the liquid on the ground. Mycroft didn't see as he started running as fast as he could.

"NO! Gregory!" His voice echoed over the garden, he ran his hand grabbing the bench and turned towards Greg, his legs buckled underneath him and he scraped his knees, the suit ruined with ripped material. He looked up towards Greg who was hunched over his eyes closed, his hand holding the rose and his lips in a smile.

"You promised not to go alone! You said I can be with you! You said I can be with you!" Mycroft cried out as tears ran down his face, his hands on Greg's knees. Greg didn't move.

"Please come back." Mycroft whispered – begged through his tears as he pulled Greg close to him, he moved to the bench and cradled Greg in his arms. The rose fell to the ground, the petals breaking apart.

"Please come back."


	7. Chapter 7

Here we go, the last and happy ending chapter. Although it starts the same with chapter 6, the story split after the discussion in the kitchen.

Hope you like it.

 **It was different - expansion**

 **Chapter 7**

When Greg woke up it was late morning, for a moment he was disorientated, the bed was unknown as well as the room. For starters it was a lot more comfortable than what he was used to. He looked up to see a page with a few notes, next to the two that was usually on his bed side table. He quickly read the list

 _At Mycroft country house_

 _You're safe_

 _You're not alone_

 _Sherlock and John is here as well_

 _Don't worry_

 _Mycroft is here_

As her read it, the memories came back, he has been here for about a week now, when he woke up in his old place after the hospital visit, it was to find the three men in his living room making arrangements and waiting for him. It took some persuasion but when Mycroft took hold of his hands and asked him nicely, nearly begged him to come with him, he only nodded. So they waited for him to pack a few stuff, Mycroft oversaw as Greg forgot nearly half the stuff they set out to his country side home. He wanted to ask them if they know about his work, but decided against it, he doesn't want to talk about it, and it wasn't that difficult to find out, or deduce he was no longer working.

The first few days were rough; Mycroft took leave from work for an unspecified amount of time to help him settle in. Without pre-arrangements Sherlock and John decided to move in on the west wing of the house, Sherlock made excuses about an experiment with the bees and John straight out admitted he stayed for Greg. Greg didn't say thank you or acknowledge them as he just turned around and went into his room. The door closing with a soft thud. They didn't saw him until the next day.

The biggest challenge was to get him to eat; he refused to eat in front of them, and would take a slice of bread, surround himself with a blanket and would go outside. Mycroft's garden was big and well kept, with stone paths and a bench overlooking the grounds. He would make himself comfortable on the bench and would sit there for hours. Occasionally one of them would sit with him, not saying anything, just providing him with the comfort and support they should've given him before. Mycroft would sit with him for the longest.

Sighing Greg got out of bed to get dressed and get ready for the day, his actions was slower than the day before and he knew his time was nearly up. Dressing warmly in his tracksuit and jumper, scarf and the blanket he went to the kitchen. He could hear noises coming from the kitchen, they were discussing him. Making his way softly over the floor he listened.

"Convince him!" Sherlock's grunted.

"He doesn't want to Sherlock, if I could I would, I would give anything to make him say yes to the operation and we have tried this week, he is adamant." Greg looked down, his heart breaking at hearing the pain and defeat in Mycroft's voice.

"He's dying!" Sherlock cried out, his voice just as close to breaking, the desperation clear.

"You don't think I know that? You don't think I can see the way he is getting weaker with any passing minute! You called me the British Government once, you tell people I'm one of the most dangerous people they would ever meet, and don't you think that I would give it up, everything just to get him back?" Greg swallowed the lump as a tear ran down his face. He would gladly do it if he knew it would fix him, but it won't. He has a 10% survival and even less with his mind being intact afterwards. He couldn't do it, not to himself and not to Mycroft.

"We can't lose him Mycroft." Sherlock's voice was soft.

Mycroft didn't reply, everyone knew whatever he said, it wouldn't bring any comfort. Wiping his eyes Greg stepped into the kitchen, three faces turned to him, the guilt of talking behind his back evident. He walked over to Sherlock and took his hand; for once Sherlock's hand was bigger and broader than Greg's.

"You…will…never…lose…me…I'm…sure…you…have…me…somewhere…in…that…mind…of…yours…." He slowly said, concentrating on each word, each syllable to make sure he can get the message across. He was struggling these days to talk.

"Why won't you take the risk?" Sherlock asked, not caring that his eyes filled with tears.

"Because…don't…want…to…forget…you…all…of…you."

"But…" Sherlock started but Mycroft stepped between them, taking Greg's hand and indicate he must try to have some breakfast. Greg stopped him and pulled him closer.

"I…know…you…want…me…to…fight…but…not…win…now…I…would…rather…die…knowning…you…loving…you…than…live…not…loving…you." Mycroft pulled Greg close and held him close, he has been showing more emotion in the past week than in his entire life. He doesn't even try to hide the pain anymore, or hide the fact that he was crying. Soon it will be all over and his heart will be nothing more than a block of ice, so crying won't be a problem anymore.

That afternoon Mycroft found Greg in his usual place, instead of sitting down next to him like he usually does, he grouched down in front of Greg. Frowning he tilted his head.

"I know you don't want to go for the operation and if the roles were reversed I'd probably do the same, but then I realised you would've given me hassle and unrelenting grief on why that would be a bad idea and I would be my cold self and be stubborn. I'm not going to give you a thousand reasons on why you should take the risk, and believe me I can, I'm going to give you one: For me. I'm on my knees begging you to please please reconsider, please take it for me, for us, for the smallest and the most miniscule chance that we can do the things you said we could for three years. We caught only had a glimpse of how we could be and what we could be, give us the chance to be again." Mycroft was near crying when he was finished, Greg was crying. Covering Mycroft's folded hands on his lap with his own he cried.

"What…if…I'm…not…me?" He asked through sniffles and tears.

"You will be. I know you will." Mycroft stated with conviction, he had to believe. Leaning up he kissed Greg whose lips automatically fitted perfectly over his. When they slowly parted Greg lifted his hands to cup Mycroft's cheeks.

"Promise…me…I will…be…me?" Knowing Mycroft doesn't have that kind of power but he also needed some kind of affirmation, someone who can believe for the both of them. Mycroft knew it too.

"I promise." There was no doubt in his voice, no sliver of doubt in his gaze as he stared at Greg. Greg who could only nod and fall into Mycroft's arms that pulled him into a tight embrace.

They were packed and ready to go in less than an hour, Mycroft in true form had made arrangements in the event of Greg agreeing, and when he got the go-ahead, everything just fell into place. The clinic was very private, very well equipped and one of the top medical facilities in Germany. The J.W. Goethe University hospital in Frankfort is one of the best Neurosurgical hospitals with leading doctors making new discoveries every day. It was difficult to find a doctor willing but Buchberger was not only a risk taker; he was one with the most successful surgeries behind his name and scalpel.

He took great interest in Greg's case and when Mycroft contacted him, he was very eager to get his hands on him. Their flight was immediate, Sherlock and John would follow later, they were in town when Greg agreed and Mycroft wasn't going to wait for them to get to the country and then fly out.

Greg was quiet the whole time during the flight and even in the big private suite at the hospital, he had his own private room with his own bathroom and in the one corner was a smaller bed with a table and two chairs for visitors. Mycroft put their bags down on the bad and Greg's file on the table. He was scheduled to go first thing in the morning. Greg held Mycroft the whole night, he asked Mycroft to climb in the bed with him, which he did.

Greg about to be collected and taken to surgery in the next ten minutes, he and Mycroft was sitting in silence on the bed, hands clasped together. Sherlock and John were sitting at the small table, coffee and food in take-out containers. Greg smiled.

"Sherlock?" He broke the silence, Sherlock jumped up and walked towards him.

"Hug…me…" He stated and Sherlock looked very confused with the strange request but sitting on the other side of the bed he pulled him in awkward hug. When Greg made a move to push away Sherlock held him tighter burying his face in his neck. There was no words needed, sometimes actions are always louder and even ill Greg knew what Sherlock needed without saying a thing.

Mycroft was the only one allowed to walk with them as they wheeled him to the theatre. As they said goodbye Greg pulled him closer and whispered so only they could hear.

"If…I'm…not…me…don't…let…me…wake…up." Mycroft wanted to yell back to say no, but he understood, he knew what Greg was saying and he respected it. He gave a small nod.

"But it won't come to that you will be fine. No debate." Greg just smiled and nodded.

"I…love…you."

"I love you." Mycroft replied and stepped aside as they administered the anaesthesia. Greg's eyes were focused on his until his lids closed. The moment when Mycroft stepped out into the hallway his brother and John was on either side.

Greg sat on the bench his eyes closed and listening to the sounds of the nature around him, bees are buzzing in the far corner of the garden, Sherlock in heaven and instructing John to take notes accordingly. There are a few birds chirping on his right side, a few was splashing in the small water fountain. Opening his eyes he lifted the blanket a bit tighter around his body, his body still cooperating after the trauma. He already picked up five pounds but still have about ten to go, to get back to where he was. His motor functions has improved greatly and can actually cut through a potato now, not a steak, Mycroft still cuts that for him, but at least he can eat without looking like a toddler when he was finished. Mycroft smiled this morning and said he was very glad that Greg's hair was nearly the same length as before, the spikes already refusing to submit to Greg's hands. He wasn't complaining.

Two months has passed since the surgery, and although there was still a long way to go before he would be as before the diagnosis, he was very glad that he wasn't where he was before the surgery. He will get better, it will take time and he is not alone, not anymore. Looking down he saw his cup was empty and put it on the small tray next to him.

It was on this bench that he said yes to Mycroft's request to go for the operation, it was on this bench a month ago when he said yes to Mycroft's request to move in with him and start again, and it was on this bench that Mycroft gave him another request, his hand in marriage one year from now and he would be back to his full health. It was on this bench that Greg said yes for the third time.

"Ready to go in?" Greg looked up and saw Mycroft standing in front of him. Greg nodded and took the outstretched hand and wasted no time in reaching out his hand to his.

"Let's go home." Mycroft said softly as he helped Greg to stand up and with their hands interlaced started walking down the path towards their home.


End file.
